HOSPITALS DID strange things to time. Minutes could seem like hours, hours like minutes. On a couple of occasions, Matt had lost track of whether it was morning or night. More and more, his world had shrunk to this place of sterile corridors. The big event of his day was finding out whether the hospital cafeteria was going to serve tomato soup or minestrone for lunch. Now, on yet another day measured by the peaks and jags on Bea's heart monitor, Matt sat beside his grandmother's bed. She was dozing fitfully. She looked gaunt, her cheekbones pronounced underneath papery skin. Her appetite seemed to have vanished, and she refused to eat properly. She was devious about it, too. Busy-as-a-bee Connell would scrape food off her dinner plate and into a napkin, then hide it and pretend that she'd eaten. The doctors and nurses weren't fooled, of course, and lately they'd begun to talk ominously of a feeding tube.
Matt bent his head, running his hands through his hair. He'd been trying to read, but he'd managed to turn only a page or two. His thoughts kept him occupied enough. Where Lisa Hardaway was concerned, he always had too much to think about.
Matt had a feeling that at least one person wanted him to keep as far away from Lisa as possible, and that was Lisa's sister Megan. At the wedding reception yesterday, Megan had pretty much questioned his intentions in regard to her sister, and then she'd let loose with that slap. The lady packed a powerful right cross.
He wasn't doing too well with members of the opposite sex these days. Either they told him to go to hell, or they slapped him. But it was one woman, and one woman alone, causing this ache in his gut. Lisa…
He heard a rustle at the door, and lifted his head. His cousin Joanne stood hovering there, pale and narrow-faced. So far she'd made only a few quick visits to the hospital. Last time she'd stayed in the room only a minute or two before she'd darted back out into the corridor, so white she'd looked about to pass out. “I hate hospitals,” she'd muttered then. Without asking more, Matt knew the reason why. Five years ago, Joanne had flown out to Albuquerque, only to watch her little sister die in a hospital there. No wonder she hated the places.
Now Joanne looked as if she was getting ready to bolt, and she'd barely set foot inside the room. “How's Bea?” she asked nervously.
“The same.” Not good, that was the unspoken message.
Joanne inched her way inside, peering at the bed. “She's asleep.”
“If you want to spend some time alone with her, I can leave,” Matt offered. Joanne shook her head.
“No! I mean, I don't care if you stay.”
Bea turned her head on the pillow, eyelids fluttering. When she saw Joanne, she gave a weak frown. “What are you doing?” she asked groggily.
“Hello, Bea,” Joanne said, her voice stiff. “I came to see you—”
“Joanne,” Bea said, “Mathias always was too easy on you.”
Matt knew that Bea was referring to her husband, the original Mathias Connell. Grandpa Mathias had kept a soft spot for Joanne, always glad to have her tag along behind him at the brassworks. Bea's soft spot, in contrast, had been for Matt. She'd always come down hard on Jo.
“Bea,” Matt said to distract her, “you need to sleep for another couple of hours. And then the nurse said she'd bring you one of those new milk shakes.”
“I hate those shakes. Who's taking care of things? I want you to do it, Mathias.”
During this exchange, Joanne had remained silent, her face pinched. Now, without a word, she backed out of the room. The green line on Bea's heart monitor did an erratic zigzag. Matt buzzed for the nurse; when she arrived, she took efficient charge, stressing the need for quiet. In other words, no family altercations in Bea's presence.
Matt went out into the hall, searching for Joanne. She was about halfway down, still looking as if she wanted to bolt. He approached her.
“Bea's scared, that's all. And she's all drugged up,” he said.
“Are you playing the peacemaker again, Matt? The role doesn't suit you. Besides, I know how Bea feels. We both heard her in there. She doesn't give a damn about me.” Joanne's face looked as if it were about to crumple, but then she managed to glare at him. “I'm finally leaving, Matt. You and Bea can just—the two of you can just—”
At last Joanne's face did crumple. But when Matt tried to put his hand on her shoulder, she jerked away from him.
“Won't you ever get it, Matt? You're not the family I want. So I'm getting away. From you, from Bea…from all of it.”
SOMEHOW LISA HAD ALLOWED Matt to convince her that the two of them should take a walk along the beach. Her better judgment had told her to refuse, but of late it seemed her better judgment hadn't been in charge of her actions. They had been walking in silence for almost half an hour when sunset came, rose and violet painting the sky. They did not touch each other. Lisa knew better than to reach out to Matt. At last he spoke.
“How much longer will you be in town?” he asked rather formally.
She tried to be casual. “That's turning out to be a mystery. Jon and Amy went to Panama City for a short honeymoon, but they're delaying a longer trip because of some new plan Amy has up her sleeve—something to do with my parents. I'm afraid she's not just planning an anniversary celebration this time. Anyway, she asked me to stick around a little while.”
“Your other sister…Megan. She doesn't seem to like me very much.” Now Matt's tone was dry.
“Let's just say Megan blames you for not…” For not loving me. No point in saying the words out loud. “Anyway,” Lisa went on as flippantly as possible. “Looks like I'll be in town for a few more days. But don't get your hopes up, Matt. It doesn't mean you can convince me to take your money. It doesn't mean I'll finally let you be my benefactor.” She said the last word scornfully.
“Lisa, that's not the only reason I want you to stay.” He stopped walking and captured her hand. She saw his eyes darken in that all-too-familiar way, felt an answering swirl of desire and need.
“We have this part right, don't we?” she asked tightly. “Sex—”
“Making love.”
“Too. bad there's such a difference between making love and being in love.” She despised herself for saying this. It was too close to pleading. Please, Matt. Care for me. But once again all she saw was the regret in his eyes. He lifted his hand to caress her cheek. She pulled away.
“No, Matt. It's just…it's not enough.” She turned and went down the beach, alone this time. And Matt didn't try to follow her.
BEA'S HOUSE was broiling hot, as always, but she kept complaining of a chill. Two blankets covered her as she lay in the bed she had once shared with her husband. She'd insisted she be placed on the right side of the bed, leaving the left side free. And Matt had understood. Even though her husband had been gone these many years, Bea still kept to the familiar, comforting habits—the house piping hot, and her husband's side of the bed ready and waiting as if at any moment he'd climb in beside her and give her a kiss good-night.
Bea had insisted on coming home from the hospital. The doctors had not put up much of an objection, giving Matt to understand there was nothing more they could do.
In his chair close beside Bea's pillow, Matt bowed his head and tried to convince himself that the old gal could rally yet He'd stopped praying five years ago, but now a prayer did escape him. More a demand, actually. Don't let her die, you hear me? I've lost too much already.
“Where's Joanne?” Bea asked plaintively, turning her head on the pillow.
“She'll be here. She's on her way.” An outright lie, but Matt figured this wasn't the time for Bea to face the truth: she'd so alienated her granddaughter that Joanne had taken off. She'd left town, and hadn't told anyone where she was going. Matt had tried every possible way he could think of to find her, calling around to speak to her friends. The problem was, Joanne didn't have a lot of friends. With her prickliness, she'd done her own share of alienating.
“I have to speak to Joanne,” Bea said, her voice surprisingly strong.
“What do you want to tell her?”
“That's for Joanne to hear, not you.”
Matt figured this was a good sign. People on their deathbeds were supposed to give and receive forgiveness. Bea didn't sound in a very forgiving mood. In fact, she almost sounded her usual feisty and cantankerous self, which meant she had to be hanging around a while longer.
“I'm thirsty, Mathias.”
He picked up the glass of water from the bedside table and angled the straw for her. She took a few sips and then her head fell back on the pillow. She looked even more frail now than she had in the hospital. Matt realized what he was doing: tallying positives and negatives. This means Bea's doing well, this means she isn't. He seemed to think that if the encouraging signs could cancel out the discouraging ones, he'd be able to keep his grandmother alive.
“I want to see them…talk to me about them,” she murmured.
“What do you mean, Bea?”
“You know. Tell me about your grandpa and your dad and little Holly. My sweet Sharon…and Paige…”
At first it seemed she was asking too much. He almost got up and left the room. But his grandmother's eyes seemed very large in her shrunken face, and her expression was a pleading one.
“Grandpa loved anything made out of brass,” Matt began. “He loved the shape and the feel of it. It wasn't just a job for him. It was his life's work. But the summers I spent in Hurricane Beach—I didn't see the appeal of brass, myself. My favorite part of the day was at the end, when Grandpa stopped working and went out to fish on the pier. Fishing, that was something I could understand.”
“Your dad, he was a stubborn one. He didn't want to take over the brassworks. Got it into his mind that he'd head out to New Mexico and have adventures. Isn't that something, Matt? Your dad didn't get along so well with his dad, just like you didn't get along so well with him. Three generations of you Connell men, butting heads.”
“You've butted a few heads, yourself, Bea.”
“You know what it was? The three of you were too much alike. Headstrong, cocky. Convinced you knew better than anyone else.”
“Sounds like you and Joanne.”
“Where is that girl?” Bea asked fitfully.
“She'll be here,” he said, mustering as much conviction as he could. “You need to get some rest now.”
“I don't have time to rest. Tell me about them, Mathias. Tell me!”
He'd call this a bad sign. She was wound up, fretful, talking a mile a minute, sapping what little strength she did have left But she wanted stories, she wanted memories…all the ones that Matt had tried to block out. But it seemed he hadn't done a very good job of forgetting, because now the memories came at his reluctant bidding, as fresh and vivid as if they'd happened only yesterday.
And so he told stories to his grandmother, stories about his family. He picked through the memories, as if they were shells he'd found on the beach. The way his young sister, Holly, had liked to hang upside down from the tree in the backyard…the camping trips that always turned into utter chaos, his mom swearing she'd never go on another one, but of course she always did…Aunt Sharon, coming to New Mexico to recover from her divorce and falling in love at least three times while she was there…the secret code Holly and Paige devised for communicating over the phone, always calling each other up long-distance, behaving more like best friends than cousins…
Each story cost Matt, reminded him too well of what he'd lost. But each seemed to lull Bea, until her eyelids drifted shut, and a smile played upon her timeworn face. Thinking her asleep, at last Matt stopped and bent his head again. His throat burned, as if every word he'd spoken had been a corrosive. Lord, he wanted to remember no more.
“It wasn't your fault, Mathias.” Bea's voice was so faint, at first he thought he'd only imagined it. But when he looked at her, he saw that she'd opened her eyes. They were a luminous gray, filled with the forgiveness he'd so long denied himself.
“I should have stopped it,” he said, his throat raw now. “I should have prevented him from going into that storm. But I gave in…”
“Nobody ever could stop your father when he set his mind to something. He was stubborn, that boy.”
“I should have been more stubborn. And I should have been flying that plane. Even in the storm…I could have brought us through.” It was his deepest accusation to himself. Without any false pride, he knew he'd been a better pilot that his father. He should have been the one at those controls.
“Mathias, your father always had to be the one in charge. He wouldn't listen to anyone. I was his own mother, but I saw the flaws in him.” She lifted her gnarled hand and placed it against Matt's cheek. “You're the one who's left,” she said, her voice still faint but clear. “You're the one who has to carry on. And Lisa is a very pretty girl.”
“She isn't mine to have, Bea.”
“Hush now.” Her hand dropped back on the blanket. “Hush,” she repeated. And then her eyes opened wide, a spasm of pain crossing her face. “Oh, Matt—”
He knew immediately—another heart attack. But, even as he grabbed the receiver from the phone and punched out Dr. Yount's number, he also knew it was too late.
SEVERAL GUESTS milled about in Beatrice Connell's rose garden. Lisa almost found it difficult to believe that this was officially a funeral. A tea table had been set up under the red bud tree, with plates of sandwiches and cookies—not to mention a gleaming silver bowl filled with butterscotch candy. According to Matt, this was exactly how Bea had wanted it: a very brief ceremony at the church this morning, followed by the burial, and now what amounted to a party in Bea's garden, with only the hostess herself absent.
Lisa had to hand it to the old woman, she'd known how to go out with style. The gathering was restrained, the “guests” not quite able to forget they were mourners, but the peaceful, fragrant atmosphere of the garden offered a measure of comfort. Roses keep blooming—that was the message Bea seemed to be conveying.
But there was one person, at least, who had not seemed to find comfort in the day's events, and that was Matt. Lisa carried a full plate of food out to the tea table, but did not see him anywhere. All morning he had gone through the necessary motions, greeting people, serving as one of the pallbearers, standing by the graveside. He had accomplished every action smoothly, automatically. But Lisa had seen the taut set of his shoulders, the lines of strain etching themselves deeper and deeper into his face. He would not speak of his sorrow over Bea's death, and that was what worried Lisa most of all.
Just then, Helene came across the lawn. Lisa watched her mother approach, marveling as always that Helene had retained a fresh attractiveness even though she'd passed seventy, her soft white hair curled engagingly around her face.
Helene reached her and offered a cheek for Lisa's kiss. “How are you holding up, dear?” the older woman asked.
“Fine,” Lisa answered, realizing what a meaningless word that was, conveying nothing of her inner turmoil. But a lifetime of habits could not be broken. She still didn't know how to talk to her mother, how to excavate beneath the surface.
“It's very kind of you to be here with Bea's grandson,” Helene said.
Lisa gave her mother a sharp glance. Did Helene suspect that Lisa harbored deeper feelings for Matt Connell? With Helene, it was impossible to tell exactly what she was thinking.
“I'm glad you're here, too, Mom.”
“Yes, well, Bea was a good friend…” Helene's voice trailed off. The unspoken remained between them—the fact that Merrick wasn't here, accompanying his wife. In the past, they would have been together on such an occasion. Seeing them apart didn't seem natural.
“I have to…go do some more things in the kitchen,” Lisa said, knowing how lame the excuse sounded.
“Of course, dear. I understand.”
Lisa escaped into Bea's house, if such a thing could be called escape. The place was so hot inside, every time Lisa walked through the door she felt as if she were diving into a steamy tub of water. She wandered into the kitchen, but there really wasn't anything to do there. The ladies' auxiliary guild of Bea's church had provided more than enough sandwiches. Lisa went through the rest of the house.
“Matt,” she called softly. “Are you here?”
She found him on the second floor, coming down the ladder from the attic, a cardboard box hooked under one arm.
“More of Bea's photographs,” he said. “They keep coming out of the woodwork. She asked me to organize them, but it's going to be a hell of a job.”
He led the way into one of the spare bedrooms, where other boxes were stacked on the floor. Matt set down this latest addition.
“I'll help you with the photographs later,” she said. “We'll do it together.”
“I wouldn't ask that of you. It's my job.”
“You don't have to do everything alone.”
“She'd been threatening to die for over a decade. How was I to know she really meant it this time?”
“You couldn't have prevented this, Matt.” Lisa went to him, put her arms around him. And, all over again, Bea Connell's words echoed in her mind. Don't let him push you away. Promise…
“You couldn't have prevented any of it,” she said earnestly. “Oh, Matt, don't you see? Bad things happen, it's true—terrible things, like that plane crash. And yes, your grandmother dying. But don't punish yourself for being the one who's left. They wouldn't punish you.”
How desperately she wanted some sign that she'd offered him comfort. If only he would put his arms around her, too, take what she offered. But, when she lifted her head and gazed into his eyes, all she saw was the great distance between them, as if Matt had gone someplace that no one could ever reach. Certainly not Lisa.
AMY WAS DEFINITELY up to something. At first she insisted that all she wanted was a little help packing some of the belongings in her beach house. It seemed a reasonable request; she and Jon were looking for a roomier place to purchase together, and Amy wanted to start getting ready for the move. Why be suspicious just because she'd decided to make it a family event? But Lisa was suspicious, and in no manner did she feel up to a so-called family event. Ever since Bea Connell's funeral yesterday, all Lisa had wanted to do was hide herself somewhere. It seemed an agony, knowing she was in the same town as Matt, but unable to be near him. Unable to reach his heart.
Now she drifted listlessly onto the deck of Amy's house. Her head throbbed dully, her throat felt scratchy, she'd scarcely been able to eat all day. She'd often warned her teenage wards that emotional distress could manifest itself in physical symptoms. Never had she believed that more than now. Resting her hands on the railing, she gazed out over the gulf. It was impossibly beautiful, the aqua waters shimmering in the sun. That was the problem with Hurricane Beach, the tropical beauty here distorted your perceptions. It made you believe in fairy tales, in happy endings where there could be none.
She heard the doorbell ring, voices murmuring from inside the house, and then her father emerged onto the deck. “Here's my Lissie,” he said somewhat gruffly.
“Dad…”
He came to stand beside her at the railing. “Amy says you're feeling under the weather.”
“That's one way of putting it.”
“Care to talk about it?” he asked in a casual voice. That was all it took to make the tears start leaking from her eyes.
“Oh, Daddy…” The childhood name slipped out in spite of all her efforts to hold it back. Merrick put his arm around her and brought her close. How solid he felt. When she'd been a little girl, his bear hugs had seemed capable of protecting her from any harm. But now she was an adult, and she'd long since learned that her father was not allpowerful. There were some things even he could not protect her from.
She wiped the tears from her face. “I'll be okay,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. She didn't do a very good job of it.
“I'm a good listener, in spite of rumors to the contrary.”
What would he say if he knew the truth about her? In her work, she'd seen many different parental reactions to a daughter's pregnancy. Disbelief, anger, recriminations. And, far too often, a splintering of love. Even when families tried to rebuild, nothing was ever quite the same as before.
“I'm okay,” Lisa repeated. “You're the one I'm worried about, Dad.”
“I'm okay, too,” he said, his voice still gruff. They shared a wry glance, and then a silence that was almost companionable.
Amy poked her head out the sliding glass doors. “The rest of us are in the living room. Come join us,” she said too brightly. Lisa and her father went back into the house. In the living room, Meg sat at one end of the sofa, Jon occupied a chair.
“Everybody looks too comfortable,” Merrick chided. “I thought we were here to work. Amy, I'll start cleaning out that shed of yours. Who knows how much junk you've accumulated in there.”
Amy looked oddly guilty. “Actually, Dad…I do want to start packing up some stuff. But not today. I just thought we could, you know, get together as a family.”
Merrick frowned. “What's this all about, Amy?”
Before she had a chance to answer, the doorbell rang again. Amy flew to answer it—and Helene stepped into the house, looking jaunty in white slacks and a plaid blouse.
“I don't have long, Amy, but you were so insistent—” Helene stopped in midsentence as soon as she peered into the living room. Her gaze went straight to Merrick. “What's this about?”
“That's what I'd like to know,” Merrick growled. “Amy—”
Amy stood in the center of the room. “Before either of you goes blustering off, just listen to me. I couldn't think of any other way to get the two of you under the same roof. So, I lied. I told Dad I needed some help packing, and I told Mom I just wanted a little chat. Now here you are, and maybe you can finally sort out what's wrong between the two of you!”
Meg and Lisa exchanged a glance. Jon looked momentarily rueful, but then he went to stand beside his wife.
“Amy's right,” he said. “It's time to get things out in the open.”
That was true loyalty for you. Jon had obviously been in on this from the beginning. The two of them were definitely going to do all right.
It didn't appear that the same could be said for Helene and Merrick. Helene took a step back toward the door.
“Your father and I have nothing to discuss.”
“We'd have plenty to discuss,” Merrick said, “if your mother would behave according to logic.”
“That's the way you always put it,” Helene said icily. “You say you're the logical one, I'm the emotional one. How easy that makes it for you to dismiss my feelings.”
“I've never dismissed anything, Helene. My whole life, all I've tried to do is figure out what you want, and then give it to you.”
“I don't want you to give me anything. When will you understand? I have to be responsible for my own life—”
“Wait,” Amy pleaded. “You're supposed to sit down and talk this out like…like friends.”
Helene glanced at the other members of the family, as if suddenly remembering their presence. Her cheeks turned pink. “This is a mistake,” she said. “These are private matters—”
“We all care about you,” Amy insisted. “Mom, please, just listen. I have a proposition. I'm only asking one thing. Move back in with Dad. Give it one more chance.”
Helene took another step toward the door. “Amy, this isn't the time or place to discuss any of this.”
Amy gripped Jon's hand, then turned and gave both of her sisters a beseeching glance. Do your part, was the unmistakable message. Help me out with this. But Lisa couldn't think of a single thing to say. Her own life was in such a mess, what could she possibly do to straighten out her parents? But Meg, at last, stirred.
“I think I know what Amy's trying to do,” she said reluctantly. “She wants us to have a sort of family intervention. We're all gathered here, and we're all supposed to make the two of you… confront reality.” Meg didn't sound particularly thrilled with the idea, but Amy latched on to it.
“Yes, that's it exactly. A family intervention. Mom, give me three good reasons why you can't move back into Sea Haven. Think of the arrangement as something temporary, if you have to. But shouldn't you give it one more chance?”
“I don't owe you any explanations,” Helene said with dignity.
“That's been the problem with this family all along,” Amy argued. “We don't give each other explanations. We hide, we try to pretend that everything's just fine. Maybe it's time for a change.”
“Yes, tell them the truth, Helene,” said Merrick. “Tell them how this whole damn thing started— the scheme you hatched for getting our daughters back together.”
Helene's expression seemed to waver. “All I wanted was the three of you back in Hurricane Beach again. My little girls, united.”
“I never should have gone along with it,” Merrick said harshly. “Pretending we had marital difficulties so our daughters would find a joint cause for worry. We've given them something to worry about, all right.”
Lisa sank into the nearest chair, hardly believing what she'd heard. “You mean—all of this—it was just a plot to get Meg and me back in town?”
“I guess it worked,” Amy said in a dazed voice. “I sounded the alarm as soon as I saw the two of you having trouble. At least, I thought you were having trouble.”
“It's all a joke, then?” Meg asked, her own voice conveying utter disbelief.
“The joke is on us,” Merrick said grimly. “Maybe it started out as. a pretense, but now it's all too real. Your mother actually does want this separation.”
Helene put a hand to her throat. “You're giving me no choice—”
“Our daughters want an explanation. They want the truth.”
“I've tried over and over to tell you the truth! For fifty years, all that's mattered to you is control, Merrick. Having a woman who fits your picture of the perfect, compliant wife.”
“You talk about being responsible for your own life. Do you even know what that means? All along you've been playing a foolish, childish game. First you pretend our marriage is in trouble. Then you pretend you can start life all over again—”
“Don't belittle me! You always do that, Merrick, But I won't let you anymore.”
“Is that why you walked out on me, afraid you can't stand up for yourself if I'm around? Are you a coward, Helene?”
“No, you're the coward! You're afraid to admit you might have made some mistakes, that you're actually human like the rest of us. That maybe you haven't been the perfect husband, the perfect father.”
“It takes a hell of a lot more to be independent than renting some cheap apartment. But you haven't figured that out yet, have you, Helene?”
Lisa wanted to clap her hands over her ears. She scarcely recognized her parents' voices—harsh, accusing, hateful. She felt as if she were witnessing two strangers lash out at each other. But no, not two strangers. Rather, two people who knew each other's sore spots, each other's vulnerabilities, and now were taking full advantage of that knowledge. Lisa no longer wished that her parents would open up. Quite desperately, she wanted things to go back to the way it had been before. The politeness, the kind, considerate words, even the superficial words.
The doorbell rang again, almost a shattering sound in the tense atmosphere of the room.
“I'll get it,” said Jon, clearly relieved to have something physical to do.
As Jon opened the front door, Lisa could see all too clearly who stood on Amy's porch…the suave real estate developer, Palmer Boyce.
“Hello,” he said pleasantly, peering around Jon. “Helene asked me to pick her up here.”
“This isn't a good time,” Jon said tersely.
“I could've sworn she asked me to be here at three-fifteen—”
“Beat it,” said Jon.
“Let him in,” said Helene, her voice shaking only the slightest bit. “I did ask him to pick me up. Palmer has invited me to go sailing with him, and I accepted.” She gazed defiantly at Merrick.
“Sailing,” he echoed with a scowl.
“Yes, sailing.”
Palmer slipped past Jon and stepped inside the house. Elegantly turned out, as always, he wore a navy double-breasted blazer that made him look vaguely like a ship's captain.
“Ah, a family get-together,” he said, smiling at everyone in turn. “I'm sorry to interrupt, sorry also that I can't invite all of you along. Not enough room, unfortunately. My boat doesn't qualify as a yacht, much as I'd like—” Palmer didn't get a chance to say another word. Without warning, Merrick took a purposeful stride toward him. Palmer moved backward, ending up sprawled on the sofa next to Meg. He looked startled. So did Helene. Merrick just looked satisfied.
“Damned if my wife will go sailing with you, Boyce.”
Palmer straightened, somehow still managing to look elegant. He rose slowly to his feet, and gave a gallant bow in Helene's direction.
“I have a feeling our outing has been… delayed.” Then he glanced at Merrick. “Let's just say I get your point,” he remarked. “But I will tell you one thing, Mr. Hardaway, my relationship with your wife has been strictly on a friendly basis. You're a very lucky man. Spending time in Helene's company has only demonstrated to me what I have missed in my own life. Now, if you will excuse me, I think it's best if I leave.” He walked out of the house. It was, admittedly, an impressive exit, but privately Lisa thought her father had come off the better of the two. Merrick looked formidable, ready to eliminate any other rivals for Helene's affections.
If Helene had been swayed by Merrick's fervor, she didn't show it. Instead, she merely tilted her chin and faced her husband with dignity.
“Perhaps my living in some cheap apartment, as you put it, isn't the solution to our problems. But bullying Palmer isn't the solution, either. Now, I think I'd like to spend a little time on my own, without any intervention from my family.” That said, Helene turned and made an impressive exit of her own.