White Lace and Promises (25 page)

Glenn looked as weary as she felt. “It’s a matter of trust, too, Maggie.”

“I trust you completely.”

“You don’t,” Glenn announced, and turned away from her, which only served to fuel Maggie’s anger.

Maggie slept in the guest bedroom that night, praying Glenn would insist she share his bed. She didn’t know what she had thought sleeping apart would accomplish. It took everything within Maggie not to swallow her considerable pride and return to the master bedroom. A part of her was dying a slow and painful death.

Maggie couldn’t understand why Glenn was behaving like he was. Only once had he even raised his voice to her in all the weeks they’d been married. But now the tension stretched between the two bedrooms was so thick Maggie could have sliced it with a dull knife. Glenn was so disillusioned with her that even talking to her was more than he could tolerate. He wasn’t punishing her with the silent treatment, Maggie realized. He was protecting her. If he spoke, it would be to vent his frustration and say things he’d later regret.

Instead of dwelling on the negative, Maggie recalled the wonderful love-filled nights when they had lain side by side and been unable to stay out of each other’s arms. The instant the light was out, Glenn would reach for her with the urgency of a condemned man offered a last chance at life. And when he’d kissed her and loved her, Maggie felt as though she was the most precious being in the world. Glenn’s world. He was a magnificent lover. She closed her eyes to the compelling images that crowded her mind, feeling sick at heart and thoroughly miserable.

In the other room, Glenn lay on his back staring at the ceiling. The dark void of night surrounded him. The sharp edges of his anger had dulled, but the bitterness that had consumed him earlier had yet to fade. In all his life he had never been more disappointed and more hurt—yes, hurt—that his wife couldn’t trust him to handle a delicate situation and protect her. He wasn’t out to get Denny; he sincerely wanted to help the man.

Morning arrived, and Maggie couldn’t remember sleeping, although she must have
closed her eyes sometime during the long, tedious night. The alarm rang, and she heard Glenn stirring in the other room.

While he dressed, Maggie moved into the kitchen and put on coffee. Ten minutes later, he joined her in the spacious room and hesitated, his gaze falling to her wide, sad eyes. Purposely he looked away. There was no getting around it. He had missed sleeping with his wife. A hundred times he had had to stop himself from going into the bedroom and bringing her back to his bed where she belonged.

Now she stood not three feet from him in a sexy gown, and his senses were filled with her. He should be aware of the freshly brewed coffee, but he discovered the elusive perfumed scent of Maggie instead. Silently, he poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled out a kitchen chair. He tried to concentrate on something other than his wife. He reached for the newspaper and focused his attention on that. But mentally his thoughts were involved in this no-win situation between him and her bloodsucking brother. When he’d learned exactly how much money Denny had borrowed he’d been incensed. This madness had to stop and soon or he’d bleed Maggie dry.

Sensing Glenn’s thoughts, Maggie moved closer, wanting to resolve the issue, yet unsure how best to approach a subject that felt like a ticking time bomb.

Propping up the newspaper against the napkin holder, Glenn hid behind the front page, not wanting to look at Maggie. Yet he struggled to keep his eyes trained on the front page headlines.

“Will you be home for dinner?” Maggie forced the question out. Leaning against the kitchen counter, her fingers bit into the marble surface as she waited for his answer.

“I’ve been home every night since we’ve been married. Why should tonight be different?”

Maggie had only been trying to make idle conversation and break down the ice shield positioned between them. “No reason,” she murmured, and turned back to the stove.

A few minutes later, Glenn left for the office with little more than a casual farewell.

By noon Maggie was convinced she couldn’t spend another day locked inside the confines of the beach house. Even the studio that had been her pride now became her torture chamber. One more hour dealing with this madness and she’d go stir-crazy.

Aimlessly, she wandered from room to room, seeking confirmation that she had done the
right thing by Denny and finding none. She took a long, uninterrupted walk along the beach, where gusts of ocean air carelessly whipped her hair across her face and lightened her mood perceptibly. Christmas was only a week away, and there were a hundred things she should be doing. But Maggie hadn’t the heart for even one.

Recently, she had been filled with such high expectations for this marriage. Now she realized how naïve she’d been. She had always thought that love conquered all. What a farce that was. She had been unhappy before marrying Glenn; now she was in love, pregnant, and utterly miserable. And why? Because she’d stood by her brother when he needed her. It hardly seemed fair.

A light drizzle began to fall, and she walked until her face felt numb with cold. She trekked up to the house, fixed herself something hot to drink, and decided to go for a drive.

The ride into the city was sluggish, due to heavy traffic. She parked on the outskirts of Fisherman’s Wharf and took a stroll. A multitude of shops and touristy places had sprung up since her last visit—but that had been years ago, she realized. She dropped into a few places and shopped around, finding nothing to buy. An art gallery caught her eye, and she paused to look in the window at the painting on display. A card tucked in the ornate frame revealed the name of the painting was
The Small Woman
. The artist had used a black line to outline the painting, like lead surrounding the panes in a stained-glass window. The colors were bold, the setting elaborate. The simple woman, however, was strangely frail and pathetic, detached from the setting as though she were a sacrifice to be offered to the gods in some primitive culture. Examining the painting, Maggie saw herself in the tired woman and didn’t like the reflection.

A blast of chilling wind whipped her coat around her legs, and to escape the unexpected cold, Maggie opened the glass door and entered the gallery. The room was deceptively large, with a wide variety of oil paintings, some watercolors, small sculptures, and other artworks in opulent display.

“Can I help you?”

Maggie turned toward the voice to find a tall, slender woman dressed in a plaid wool skirt and creamy white silk blouse. She appeared to be studying Maggie closely, causing Maggie to wonder at her appearance. The wind had played havoc with her hair and …

“Maggie?”

Maggie blinked twice. She didn’t recognize the woman. “Pardon?”

“Are you Maggie Kingsbury?”

“Yes … my married name is Lambert. Do I know you?”

The woman’s laugh was light and sweetly musical. “I’m Jan Baker Hammersmith. Don’t you remember we attended—”

The name clicked instantly. “Jan Baker.” The two had been casual friends when Maggie was attending art school. “I haven’t seen you in years. The last I heard, you were married.”

“I’m divorced now.”

Maggie dropped her gaze, desperately afraid that she would be adding that identical phrase someday when meeting old friends. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I am, too,” Jan said with a heavy sadness. “But it was for the best. Tell me, are you still painting?” Maggie noted how Jan quickly diverted the subject away from herself.

“Occasionally. Not as much since I married.”

Jan strolled around the gallery with proud comfort. “I can still remember one of your paintings—a beach scene. The detail you’d put into it was marvelous. Whatever happened to that?”

“It’s hanging in our living room.”

“I can understand why you’d never want to sell that.” Jan’s eyes were sincere. “Rarely have I seen a painting with such vivid clarity and color.”

“It would sell?” Maggie was surprised. Ridiculous as it seemed, she’d never tried to sell any of her paintings. There hadn’t been any reason to try. She gave them away as gifts and to charities for auctions, but she didn’t have any reason to sell them. She didn’t need the money, and inwardly she feared they might not sell. Her artwork was for her own pleasure. The scenes painted by her brush had been the panacea for an empty life within the gilded cage.

“It’d sell in a minute,” Jan stated confidently. “Do you think you’d consider letting the gallery represent you?”

Maggie hedged, uncertain. “Let me think about it.”

“Do, Maggie, and get back to me. I have a customer I know who’d be interested in a painting similar to the beachscape, if you have one. Take my card.” They spoke for several minutes more and Maggie described some of her other works. Again, Jan encouraged her to bring in a few of her canvases. Maggie noted that Jan didn’t make any promises, which was reasonable.

Sometime later, Maggie returned to her car. Meeting Jan had been just the uplift she’d needed. Already her mind was buzzing with possibilities. There wasn’t any reason she shouldn’t sell her work.

Glenn’s car was in the driveway when she returned and she pulled to a stop in front of the house and parked there. A glance at her watch told her that it was later than she suspected. Her spirits were lighter than at any time during the past two days, but she didn’t hurry toward the house.

“Where have you been?” Glenn asked the minute she walked in the door. Not granting her the opportunity to respond, he continued. “You made an issue of asking me if I was going to be home for dinner and then you’re gone.”

Carelessly, Maggie tossed her coat over an armchair. “I lost track of the time,” she explained on her way into the kitchen. Glenn was only a step behind. From the grim set of his mouth, Maggie recognized that once again she’d displeased him. Everything she’d done the past few days seemed to fuel his indignation.

He didn’t say another word as she worked, dishing up the meal of baked pork chops and scalloped potatoes Rosa had prepared for them. Maggie could feel his gaze on her defeated shoulders, studying her. He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something, but apparently changed his mind.

“I was in an art gallery today,” she told him conversationally.

“Oh.”

“I’m thinking of taking in some of my work.”

“You should, Maggie.”

Silence followed. This was the first time they’d had a decent conversation since she’d sided with her brother against him.

Their dinner was awkward, each trying to find a way to put their marriage back on track. Glenn sat across from her, cheerless and somber. Neither ate much.

“Did the mail come?” Maggie asked, setting the dinner dishes aside.

“It’s in your office,” Glenn answered without looking up. “Would you like me to bring it in to you?”

“Please. I’ll finish up here in a minute.” Well, at least they were speaking to each other, she thought. It was a start. Together they’d work things out. The situation with Denny was
probably the first of many disagreements and misunderstandings they would face through the years. It might take time, she told herself, but they’d work it out. They loved each other too much to allow anything to wedge a space between them for long. They had both behaved badly over this issue with Denny, but if she’d bend a little, Glenn would, too.

When Glenn returned to the living room, he said her name with such fervor that her head came up. Unconsciously, Maggie pressed farther back into the thick cushions of her chair, utterly stunned by the look that flashed from her husband’s eyes. She could think of nothing that would cause him such anger.

“Explain this,” he said, and thrust her letter to Angie in front of Maggie’s shocked face.

M
aggie’s mind was in complete turmoil. She’d known it was a risk to write Angie, and later had regretted it. She hadn’t mailed the card. Yet she’d left the letter on top of her desk for Glenn to find. Perhaps subconsciously she had wanted him to discover what she’d done.

Tension shot along her nerves as she struggled to appear outwardly calm. Lifting the chatty letter Glenn handed her, she examined it as if seeing it for the first time, amazed at her detachment. Whatever she wished, consciously or subconsciously, Glenn had found it and the timing couldn’t be worse. They were just coming to terms with one major disagreement and were about to come to loggerheads over another. Only this issue was potentially far more dangerous to the security of their marriage. Going behind Glenn’s back had never felt right. Maggie had regretted her deception a hundred times since. And yet it had been necessary. Long ago, Maggie had admitted that Glenn had forced her into the decisive action. She had asked him about Angie and he’d refused to discuss the other woman. Maggie was his wife and she loved him; she had a right to know. But all the rationalization in the world wasn’t going to help now.

“How do you explain this?” His voice went deep and low, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d found. Maggie hadn’t trusted him to help her brother, he thought, somewhat dazed, and now he’d learned that she had betrayed his trust in another situation as well. Glenn knew he should be furious. Outraged. But he wasn’t. His emotions were confused—he felt shocked, hurt, and discouraged. Guilt was penned all over Maggie’s pale face as she sat looking up at him, trying to explain. There couldn’t possibly be a plausible one. Not one. Feeling sick with defeat, he turned away from her.

Maggie’s heartbeat quickened at the pained look in Glenn’s dark eyes. “I met Angie.”

“When?” he asked, still hardly able to comprehend what she was saying. He paced the area in front of her in clipped military-like steps as if standing in one place were intolerable.

Maggie had never seen any man’s features more troubled. “The … the day I flew to San Francisco … I took a flight to Groves Point first and then flew from there to Atlanta before heading home.”

If possible, Glenn went even more pale.

“I asked you to tell me about the two of you, but—” Maggie attempted to explain and was quickly cut off.