He nods, then starts toward the door.
“Archie?”
He turns back.
“Thanks.”
He hesitates. “I should clarify—when I said that I was surprised he told you about Deliverance, I meant the timing, not the revelation. You two couldn’t be what you are to each other with something that significant hanging between you.”
“He told you that?”
“No, but as you said, there’s not much I miss that goes on in this house. Last week, I knew you two had a disagreement. I had hoped you would make up, of course, but I didn’t anticipate that revelations about Deliverance would be part of that equation.”
“Deliverance was at the heart of the argument,” I confide. “I learned about it accidentally and kind of freaked out.”
“Ah,” he says, as if all the pieces are falling into place.
They’re falling into place for me, too. “You don’t really have a sick aunt in Pennsylvania, do you?” I recall how he’d left without even speaking to Dallas. We’d simply come back into the house from the cabana and found Archie’s note.
“I have a cousin in Chicago who’s feeling slightly under the weather, but no. I thought the two of you needed some privacy.”
“And, um, it really doesn’t bother you? What Dallas and I are to each other, I mean.” It’s an awkward question, but I’m compelled to ask it. If Archie’s not freaked out, then maybe my parents will come to accept it, too.
It’s a nice little fantasy, and so I cling to it gratefully, but I also know it’s not true. My mother, maybe. But Daddy? Not in a million years.
It takes a moment for Archie to answer, and in the silence, I can read nothing in his face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you intend to give him up?”
“No.” My answer is firm and immediate.
“Then it doesn’t matter what I think. It doesn’t matter what anybody thinks,” he adds, as if he understands exactly where my mind has been going.
“I guess it doesn’t.” I want to be satisfied with his answer, but I can’t deny that I crave the words—the reassurance that he doesn’t judge us harshly. I want that, and at the same time I hate how insecure that need makes me feel.
“Jane,” he says gently, “I saw the connection between you two more than twenty years ago. I’m not upset at you, but for you. You have a hard road, but you can make it. You’re strong,” he says. “You were forged in fire … You’re a fighter.”
And he’s right. Dallas and I both are.
But the problem with a fight is that there’s always the chance you’ll lose.
The Other Man
Dallas paused outside the den, his hands on the polished brass knobs of the massive double doors. He didn’t know why the hell he was hesitating. It’s not like William Martin intimidated him. And if Bill had come to arrest him, there’d be a shit load of Virginia farm boys dancing all over the mansion’s front lawn.
Except, of course that was bullshit.
Not the part about the FBI, but about not knowing why he was hesitating.
He knew.
He was still standing out here in the hall because he simply didn’t want to see the man whose ring used to be on Jane’s finger. The man who’d laughed with her, lived with her. Made love to her.
Intimidated? Not even close.
On the contrary, he was seething with jealousy, and he hated himself for it.
With one final breath to steel himself, he pushed open the door, then extended his hand to the man rising from one of the leather armchairs.
“Bill, good to see you again. It’s been too long.”
“It has.” Bill met him midway across the room and took his hand in a firm shake that only irritated Dallas more. In his mind, William Martin was a skinny, quiet pansy who had never deserved a woman as vibrant as Jane.
In real life, Bill was not only a brilliant and respected attorney, he was a decent-looking guy with ginger hair and the all-American features that had certainly helped him climb the government ranks. Not only that, Dallas happened to know that the man could hold his own on a basketball court.
Were Jane not in the picture, Dallas would probably like him.
As it was, he barely tolerated him.
Right now, he was doing his best to not flat-out ask the man what the hell he was doing in Southampton. In Dallas’s house in Southampton, to be more specific.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Bill said, and Dallas had to laugh.
“To be honest, I was. Not that I don’t welcome a drop-in from you at seven in the morning …”
Bill had the good grace to look sheepish. “I need to get back to DC for a lunch meeting, but I wanted to talk to you. This was the first and only chance I’ve had. Frankly, I considered myself lucky you were here. But I guess you had a party last night?”