Page 32 of Broken Vows
She sits back, eyes slipping away from mine. “Your father and I had plenty of problems throughout our marriage, but we chose each other. We fought for each other. You can’t just expect a marriage to work without putting the effort in.”
I gather the last of the laundry, setting it in the basket to do later. “You’re telling the wrong person, Mom, but thanks for the talk.” I ignore her when she calls my name, leaving the room with my heart aching. It would’ve been nice to have at least one person on my side, but I should’ve guessed that Caroline would have gotten in our mother’s ear before I ever had the chance.
Mom was raised in a devoutly religious household, taught that women should be subservient to their husbands—pristine house, quiet and clean children, dinner on the table as soon as the man walks in the door. She wasn’t as bad ashermother, but there are some things she just couldn’t grasp.
Like the idea of divorcing her husband when he had an affair with the pharmacist who filled out his heart medication script.
Caroline isn’t much different from our mother, although her reasons for staying in her unhappy marriagearen’t quite as altruistic. I don’t think she will ever leave her husband. Why would she? Geoff has already proved he can stomach her avarice and cutting personality, and he seems capable of funding the lavish lifestyle she clings to. Maybe not on the same scale as Christopher, but it is enough for her to hold court over her friends.
For me, it was never about what Christopher could provide, but love. It feels so naive now, but back then, I just wanted the family—the unconditional love, the moments, the memories. I wanted the togetherness that I’d never truly felt with my own family, what with an invisible divider between my sister and mother, and me and my father.
Ginny comes racing into the bedroom she and I have been sharing the last two days, her usual sunny smile missing, her lips twisted into a scowl. “We need to go home now.”
I pause, looking at her. “Why’s that?”
“Because Mase is more annoying here than at home!” she wails dramatically. “He’s theworst. At least at home, I have my room and my toys and my things. But Nanny has nothing.”
I don’t answer for a moment, taking in the wide, teary eyes and the downward turn to her mouth. There’s a lot more than her brother being a pain in the butt happening right now. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She stares back at me for a beat and then crumbles, rushing toward me. I drop the basket of clothes before she can hit it, folded clothes tumbling across the carpet, but Ginny’s already in my arms. The bulky cast rests against my hip, her other hand at my back, gripping my shirt tightly.
“Nanny’s house smells funny,” she whispers sadly. “It doesn’t smell like home.”
I hug her back, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re right.” There’s a huff in the doorway, and I look up, catching sight of my mother hovering. “You know why it doesn’t smell like home, though? Nanny doesn’t keep enough ice cream here, so the walls don’t smell as sweet.”
“There’s a whole tub of ice cream in the freezer, thank you very much.” My mother narrows her eyes at me.
I grin. “Is there?” I say with mock surprise. “Oh. Did you hear that, Ginny? There’s ice cream. But the placedoessmell funny. Do we believe her?”
Ginny catches on quickly, turning to eye her grandmother with suspicion, telling her firmly, “I’m gonna needevidence, Nanny.”
Humor creases my mother’s expression, her eyes soft as she stares at her youngest grandbaby. “That’s a big word for a little girl, sweetie pie. What’ve you been watching on TV, hm?”
“I’m gonna be a detective when I grow up,” Ginny proclaims proudly, apparently deciding that last week’s aspirations of driving a garbage truck are no longer for her.
“Of course you are,” my mom murmurs back. “Come on, then. Ice cream might cool you off so you stop bickering with your brother.”
Ginny skips over to her, tucking her good arm around her grandmother’s. As they stroll out of the room, I hear, “What does bickering mean?”
I shake my head, crouching down to pick up the clothes all over the floor, putting them away. Just as I finish up, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I fish it out, my heart skipping a beat when I see Grafton’s name flashing across my screen.
It feels like the man has imprinted himself on my very being, leaving me little escape from him. In the last coupleof days, I haven’t been able to get him out of my head, and it’s infuriating.
I don’t need to be focused on another man right now, especially when the last one has proven to be such an epic waste of space. I don’t trust my taste in men, and I’m not ready to risk being burned again.
Grafton
I have something you’ll want to see.
The tone of the message is missing, leaving me unable to tell if this is a good thing I’ll want to see, or something more like Christopher’s self-directed porn.
Trepidation fills me, and I click on the video that comes in seconds later, finding myself looking at the reception area of Reynolds & Media. The angle of the video makes me guess it came from a security camera, and I frown, seeing nothing except for the receptionist on the phone at the desk and people walking past her, looking like they’re just going about their day.
Seconds pass, and then Christopher walks into the frame. His shoulders are hunched, his steps stilted, and two uniformed security guards flank him. People still, turning to watch his progression toward the bank of elevators, one sliding open with perfect timing.
A snort escapes me as my husband turns to face the doors just before they close. The cameras are of such a good quality that I can see every nuance of his chalky-white expression, riddled with panic and shock. The elevator door closes, cutting off the view of his face.
My knees buckle as reality crashes down on me. I sit on the edge of the bed. There’s an edge of panic running through me, knowing I’m almost at the end of this, butthere’s excitement there, too. And satisfaction every time I think of his shell-shocked face.
