“Package for you, Cybil,” Bridget said as the physical therapist, Anne, moved Cybil into the last stretch. “It’s on your chair. I’ll get your water.”
“Thank you.” Cybil smiled, despite the burning exhaustion that went with a tough PT appointment.
She liked being just Cybil. She liked being Bridget’s equal. She liked the quiet villa in Kauri Cliffs, at the far north end of New Zealand. She even liked being disconnected from the rest of the world. By and large, she didn’t want to know what was happening back home. She had no interest in keeping up-to-date on what her soon-to-be ex-husband was doing. She wasn’t available for comment on news stories.
She could focus on herself. It was selfish and something she was still getting used to—but with the help of a psychologist and a physical therapist, she was rediscovering who she’d been before Landon Wyatt and, more important, who she wanted to be after him.
But most of all, she was getting used to talking with her son again. Not every day, because he was still a busy man, but at least every other day. At one in the afternoon her time, Bobby would call at what was eight his time. They talked of her progress and his work. They’d avoided discussions of Landon, but after a while, Bobby had begun to mention Jeannie more and more.
She wished she could’ve been there for the wedding, but someone named Darna had streamed the whole civil ceremony, all fourteen minutes of it, for Cybil to see.
For the first time in decades, she could breathe again.
“There,” Anne said, helping Cybil to stand. She wobbled a little—today had been tough. “Make sure to drink plenty of fluids, okay? I’ll see you in two days.”
Cybil patted the young woman’s shoulder and gratefully sank into her chair, the package in her hands.
She’d received mail from Bobby before, legal notices of her divorce proceedings, usually—her son had hired an absolute shark of a lawyer. But this felt different.
Her hands began to shake and it wasn’t just from the physical exertion.
Ah, her divorce papers. It was done. She was no longer legally bound to Landon Wyatt and it appeared half of his earnings from throughout their awful marriage were now hers. She was an independently wealthy woman. No longer would she have to beg for money or wear what Landon bought for her. She could do as she saw fit.
The next thing in the envelope was the front page of the Chicago Tribune, with a handwritten note that said, “Any deposition can be handled safely and your income will be protected—R.” Landon Wyatt was being charged for criminal sexual assault—several maids and employees had come forward to press charges. Represented, she knew, by a lawyer Bobby had chosen. Oh, but this was new—Wyatt Medical had voted him out as CEO and Landon was also being investigated by the SEC for insider trading and campaign fraud? Apparently, Alexander, Landon’s assistant, had turned on him. All his friends had abandoned him and his political aspirations were dead in the water. His disgrace was complete and if Bobby had anything to say about it, Landon would spend a good chunk of the rest of his life in jail.
How fitting. She wanted to savor this moment, this permanent freedom.
But then a cream envelope fluttered out of the package and Cybil’s breath caught in her throat. She knew she was crying as she read the engraved print, but she simply didn’t care.
“Dr. Robert Wyatt and Jeannie Kaufman are pleased to announce their marriage in a private ceremony on October 12. They are also proud to welcome Melissa Nicole Wyatt to the family.”
The next thing was a slim hardbound book. Oh, he’d sent her a wedding album! When she opened the cover, a handwritten note slid out. “I took a chance on happiness,” the note read in Bobby’s scrawled handwriting. “That’s because of you.”
“Oh, Bobby,” she sighed. He’d always been such a thoughtful boy. Thank God Landon had never succeeded in destroying that.
She flipped through the album, greedily taking in the signs of happiness.
The first picture showed Bobby and Jeannie standing side by side. Bobby was smiling down at his bride. Smiling! Dear God, it did her heart good to see her son looking at peace—the same peace she was beginning to feel.
Cybil barely recognized Jeannie as the same woman who had gotten her away from Landon with a well-placed glass of champagne. In real life, Jeannie smiled wider, had kinder eyes and looked downright sweet in her tea-length lace gown in a soft shade of rose pink that was gorgeous on her.
Cybil fondly traced a finger over the picture. Bobby would need someone bold and daring, someone strong enough to withstand his personality—and someone who would understand why he was the way he was but would never pity him. If that was his bartender, then that was the perfect woman for him.
The second picture showed Bobby and his new wife with a small infant. Only a few months old, the little girl was wrapped in a soft blanket, grinning a toothless grin up at Bobby from Jeannie’s arms. Bobby’s hand cupped the baby’s cheek with such tenderness that Cybil’s eyes watered again.
A note was paper-clipped to the page. “We’ll bring her out soon—R.”
“Everything all right?” Bridget said, concern in her voice as she sat the tea tray down. “You’re crying!”
“I’m a grandmother,” Cybil got out as she showed Bridget the album. “Look at my family!”
“Oh, wow,” Bridget said, sounding wistful. “They look so happy!”
Happy. It was a long-cherished dream, one that had gotten Cybil through so many dark times. “You know,” Cybil said, dabbing at her tears, “I do believe they are.”
Keep reading for an excerpt from Best Friends, Secret Lovers by Jessica Lemmon.
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