Present Day. Honey Ridge
Valery woke with a powerful thirst and a hideous taste in her mouth. Somebody was playing the piano again, and she wished they’d stop.
Slowly, her senses cleared, and the music dissipated, a dream. A drunken dream.
Groaning, she rolled to one side as shame slid through her, scorching hot. Her head pounded. She gripped her temples.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, licking dry-as-powder lips.
What had she done?
Aware she was fully dressed—a blessing, all things considered—she tried to remember how she’d gotten to bed. The memory evaded her.
The last thing she recalled was a humiliating episode of sickness in front of Grayson.
She moaned again. Why did he have to be the one to find her like that? She’d only meant to have one drink. One! But one became two and two became three. She could handle three with only a head buzz that made her cheerful and fun-loving.
Somewhere after the third shot everything became a blur. Mark had invited her to his place. She squeezed her eyes tight but opened them every bit as quickly. Pressure banged like hammers against her eyelids.
Had she gone home with Mark? The idea made her sick all over again. She focused, tried to remember, hoped and prayed she hadn’t.
He’d accompanied her to his car. She remembered that much, and they’d gotten as far as the parking lot and her red Toyota. Mark claimed she couldn’t drive. He was right. But by then she was maudlin and crying, and the only man she’d wanted was Grayson.
She’d wanted to go home.
She’d gotten into the Toyota.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Somehow, by the grace of God, she’d driven home unscathed. Again.
Relief ran like water through her body.
She’d come home to Peach Orchard. She didn’t remember the drive and hated herself for that. She knew better than to drive drunk, but she’d been completely toasted before she left the bar.
How had that happened? She hadn’t intended to.
One drink. She’d promised. Only one drink.
Then Grayson had found her puking in the parking lot. From there she was blank. No, not blank. Vague snatches, hazy pictures of gravel, car lights and Grayson flickered in her head. They’d argued. He’d wanted an explanation. Had she given him one? Had she told him?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Gingerly, she swung her feet to the floor. Her stomach rolled. The maniac with the hammer slammed the back of her eyeballs.
This had to stop. She was smart enough to know she was self-destructing. Something had to give before there was nothing left of her. Or worse, before her driving killed somebody.
The thought made her stomach lurch, and she rushed to the bathroom, sick again.
When the agony passed, she rested her hot cheek against the cool white tile, exhausted and discouraged.
Every time she made a vow, she broke it.
For Grayson this must have been the last straw. Who could blame him? She was out of control, and he was a control freak. The two did not go well together.
She huffed a short, aching laugh.
Understatement of the year.
Why had she ever hoped the two of them could have a relationship?
Easy. “I love him.”
Maybe she’d loved him since the time so long ago outside the Dairy Queen when he’d patiently taught her how to solve a Rubik’s cube.
But if she loved him, if she wanted him, why was she driving him away?
In hopeless anger, she pounded a fist against the wall tile, and then groaned at the stabbing pain in her head.
Something had to give, starting today.
* * *
An hour later, Valery moved around the dining room like a zombie. The sly sideways glances she got from Julia said her sister recognized a hangover when she saw one.
Then, Mama showed up to help clean the woodwork, and the cold silences deepened until Valery wanted to scream at both women. She didn’t, of course. Carter women did not raise their voices in an unladylike display. Nor did they discuss the purple elephant in the room. Neither woman even asked if she was all right. They knew the answer, especially Mama. Mama knew more than anyone, but Lord forbid she mention it.
Valery managed to speak to the four guests having breakfast in the dining room, though Grayson wasn’t among them. Thank goodness. She wasn’t sure she could face him at all today.
He probably never wanted to see her again.
Rightfully so. She didn’t deserve him. He should get as far away from her as possible.
But she didn’t want him to go away. She also didn’t want him to be angry or hurt. She wanted him to love and admire and respect her the way she did him.
Fat chance of that happening now.
“More coffee?” she asked the middle-aged couple sitting near the window.
With smiling eyes, the matronly woman nodded, and then turned to gaze at the pretty garden outside the double window. “Beautiful lawns.”
“Thank you.” Usually, a rush of pride filled Valery at such compliments. After all, she’d selected and planted most of the flowers and bushes and helped keep the yard manicured. Today, she was too low to be proud of anything.
She retrieved a freshly filled coffee carafe from the kitchen and then moved around the linen-covered tables, a polite smile plastered on her face, though the clink of silverware drove sharp nails through her brain.
Twice, she stepped into the hallway and took long, deep breaths, fighting nausea. This wasn’t her first rodeo. She could do this. Along with Mama and Julia, she could pretend that life was perfect at Peach Orchard Inn.
“Valery, honey.”
At her mother’s voice, she stilled, pot in hand, schooled her expression and slowly turned. “Yes, Mama?”
“Julia said the eggs are ready if you can serve. She has her hands full with the piecrust.”
Prickles of heat bloomed on her neck. Her stomach threatened revolt. Briefly, she closed her eyes before going into the kitchen. Eggs. The worst smell she could think of, so she didn’t think at all. Fighting off the gag reflex, she finished serving breakfast as quickly as possible and hurried out onto the thankfully empty back porch.
The fresh air, cool and pleasant, wafted over her too-hot skin. She drew in deep drafts of the spring morning, caught the lemony scent of magnolias blooming down the driveway. Maybe she’d feel like cutting some later to float in goblets on the tables. Out-of-state guests, of which they had three, loved the Southern touch of magnolia blossoms atop crisp white table linens.
Right now, she wanted to escape.
“Valery.”
Escape was impossible.
Lips tight, resigned, she didn’t turn around as Mama came to stand next to her.
“Busy morning. I’d think you would be inside helping your sister.”
Head slowly swiveling, Valery gazed at her mother from beneath aching eyelids. Even on heavy cleaning days, Connie Carter looked perfect and put together. Like Julia. She even wore a single strand of pearls. For housework, no less. Like Grayson, the pair of them had always been perfect. Valery had never measured up.
“I do my share.”
“Just because you—” Mama’s gaze scraped over her, seeing everything. Valery knew how she looked. Bloodshot eyes, pale face, she looked horrid.
The shame inside Valery nearly killed her.
She was too soul-sick to bristle. Tiredly, she asked, “Because I what, Mama?”
“Never mind.”
Never mind. Avoid the topic. Pretend your daughter is not disintegrating before your eyes.
Suddenly, she was tired of her family’s polite game of silence. The hangover made her irritable, bold, hateful.
“For once, say what you’re thinking.” When her mother didn’t respond, Valery’s irritation elevated. So did her voice.
Through gritted teeth, she demanded, “Say it. Get it out in the open. Blast me. That’s what you want to do.”
Connie shot a quick over-the-shoulder look toward the closed back door and, in a hissing voice, said, “Stop acting like a shrew. Guests will hear you.”
“Oh, will they?” Rage, long hidden, began to bubble in her chest. She raised her voice even more. “I don’t care! I’m a drunk! Do you hear me?”
With a sharp gasp, her mother stepped off the porch and walked briskly toward the carriage house. Valery followed, anger growing, burning up her esophagus, flaming in her throat.
“Oh, that’s rich, Mama,” she yelled toward the blue-clad back. “Walk away. Ignore the problem like you always do.”
She was sick, hungover and dying inside. What difference did it make if she said the horrible, ugly words out loud? Half the town knew Valery Carter drank too much and slept around. Silence didn’t mean ignorance.
Her mother stopped short of the carriage house and turned around. Far enough, Valery reasoned, that guests could not be privy to her daughter’s uncouth behavior.
“I won’t argue with you, Valery. It’s clear you’re having a bad morning.”
Valery’s laugh was harsh. “A bad morning? Is that what you call it?” She flung a hand out to the side as if to slash the very air. Mama flinched. “I have a rip-roaring hangover. I was stupid drunk last night. I don’t even remember getting in my bed, but I woke up there.”
Her mother’s face paled. She drew up to her full height, one hand clutching her pearls. “Valery.”
“And you know why?”
Mama’s hand came up in a stop sign. “Stop this instant. I will not listen to this ill-bred ranting. You should go to your room and get some rest. We can talk when you have yourself under control.”
Valery barked another furious laugh. “Talk? You and me? Since when does that happen?”
“We talk every day.”
“Oh sure. ‘Valery, your sister needs help in the kitchen.’ ‘Mama, will you fold this load of towels?’ That’s not talking. That’s avoiding the huge, painful issue that isn’t going to go away.”
“You’re clearly overwrought, and I won’t discuss this now.”
“I’m not overwrought. I’m angry. Furious. We have to talk or I’m going to die.”
“Drama.” Connie’s head jerked in a dismissal. “Drama should have been your middle name. From the time you were little, you were spoiled and overdramatic. That’s why we put you in dance—where you excelled, by the way. You were going to be something special. But then you were too much of a drama queen to continue. Everything was about you.”
Valery couldn’t believe her ears. A red rage powerful enough to knock her over flooded into her bloodstream. Her whole body trembled.
In a deadly quiet voice that shook with emotion, she leaned toward her mother. “You know why I stopped dancing.”
“Yes, I do. To punish me. To punish yourself. To wallow in self-pity and self-indulgence exactly as you are doing now with this awful drinking.”
“Giving up dance wasn’t about me. It was about my—”
Connie’s hand flew up. “Stop. We will not have this discussion. Let the past rest.”
Valery pushed her mother’s fingers aside. “Yes, we will discuss this. The past can never rest until we get it out in the open. I can never find peace until we do.” Her words fell to a whisper. “Please, Mama, it’s killing me.”
Connie squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, worry filled the blue depths. “I can’t bear to think of that awful time. Put the past behind you, honey. Let it go. Stop dwelling on it. You’re only making yourself miserable.”
“That awful time produced a baby.” The thought boiling in her brain took root. She’d tried for years to forget she had a child, but she never had. Not for one second. Now, she was desperate enough to give voice to the one thing that might bring her peace. “I want to find her.”
Her mother stumbled backward, hand to her heart. Her face grew so pale, Valery feared she was having a heart attack.
She reached out. “Mama. Please. Please, don’t be angry, but finding her is something I need to do. Nothing is ever going to be right until I try. Searching for my baby is the only way I can ever let her go.”
“You can’t. Don’t even consider such a thing. The child is a teenager now. People would find out. We went to great lengths to preserve your reputation.”
Valery tilted her head back and stared at the white clouds passing above. The headache throbbed but not as much as the ache in her heart. Mama had never understood. Valery’s concern wasn’t about reputation. Maybe she’d cared then, but she sure didn’t now.
“Where have you been the last sixteen years? My reputation was shot the first time I got toasted on vodka after you brought me home from Georgia.”
She’d been seventeen, devastated and broken, but Mama thought she should instantly forget about the baby she’d birthed in Savannah and return to her former life of dance and friends and teenage pleasures.
Instead, Valery had felt old and used up. She knew things her friends didn’t. Things she couldn’t tell.
She’d tried to return to the old, fun-loving high school Valery during her senior year. Lord knew she had. She’d been football queen and dated every cute boy Mama had pushed at her, but each night she cried into her pillow for the baby she’d given away. She’d desperately hated herself for choosing dance over a child.
Dance had been the tool, the lure Mama had used to take her baby away. They’d both embraced the promise dancing held for Valery’s future. By giving away her child, she could return to her glory and a bright future. At the highly emotional, confusing time, Mama’s way seemed best. Neither had reckoned on the aftermath.
So she’d come home to Honey Ridge filled with remorse and shattered in spirit. And she’d refused to dance.
Mama had told everyone her talented daughter was burned out and that the year in New York had not gone as well as she’d hoped.
There had never been a year in New York.
“If you won’t consider yourself, think of your family.” Mama’s words were stern. “We are prominent citizens in this town. We do not need the scandal of your...teenage mistake coming up now, all these years later.”
“People are a lot more forgiving than you think. Teenage pregnancies happen in the best of families. What doesn’t happen is this.” She spread her hands out to her sides. Whether from hangover or fatigue, they shook. “A family that refuses to talk about what happened, that refuses to see that giving up my baby destroyed me.”
“Valery Michelle. You’re stronger than that. I don’t know what’s brought up that awful business again, but put it out of your thoughts and focus on today. You have a fine new man in your life. Appreciate him.”
Grayson. Part of the reason she yearned for resolution.
“I don’t want to hurt or embarrass you or the family, but I can’t let this go. I keep remembering that I gave away a baby when Julia would do anything to have hers back again. The guilt is driving me crazy.”
A flicker of understanding flashed on Mama’s face. Chanel Number Five whispered on the air as she slipped an arm around Valery’s waist and snugged her close, the way she’d done when both girls were small. In Mama’s arms, safe and secure, trusting that Mama knew best.
“My precious girl, stop this before you make yourself sick.”
I’m already sick. Don’t you understand?
“When you were little, you were our special one. Everyone noticed you. ‘There she is,’ they’d say, ‘little Valery, the dancer, as beautiful as a movie star. She’ll be famous someday.’” Her mother tugged at her again. “Remember? Princess Valery. Queen Valery. You were the belle of the ball, the most popular girl. You had everything.”
Valery stared down at the grass, seeing only the dead brown of winter clinging to the new birth of spring.
“Including a baby.”
Connie’s voice grew soft and compassionate. “When you came home from Savannah, we promised we would never, ever mention that again. Dwelling there hurt too much. Remember?”
Remember? How could she forget? Sick inside, she’d flown back to Nashville from her pretend year in New York City via a maternity home in Savannah, Georgia. Mama had thrown a welcome home party to celebrate her return. All her friends had come, all except the baby’s father, who had, at the first hint he’d gotten her pregnant, rushed back to college never to return.
She’d been sixteen. He was twenty. There could have been all kinds of repercussions about that situation, but preserving the secret had been more important to her family than making him take responsibility.
“You said everything would be fine, and no one would ever know.” She pulled away from the warmth and security of her mother’s side. Cool air rushed in, chilling her. She rubbed at her upper arms. “But I know, and I can’t forget no matter how I tried or how much you want me to. Especially now that Mikey’s gone. I have a daughter. Doesn’t she matter to you at all?”
“You think you’re the only one to suffer over this decision? She was my grandchild.”
“Is, Mama. She is your grandchild. Your only granddaughter. She’s out there somewhere, and I want to search for her.”
Her mother’s lips flatlined. “Did you ever consider she may not know about you? That she is likely very happy with her life and may not want to reconnect with her birth mother?”
A thousand times, she’d considered exactly that. “What if she does? What if she’s searching for me? What if the people who adopted her are too harsh? Maybe she needs me.”
“Don’t do this to yourself, honey. To your family. To that good man who gets stars in his eyes when you’re around. Sixteen years have passed. Why dig it all back up now?”
“A buried past is still there.” Like the skeleton unearthed at the mill waiting for the truth to be discovered.
“What if Grayson finds out? You don’t want to ruin the one decent relationship you’ve had in years.”
No, she didn’t, but she had a feeling she might be too late.
“You stand to lose a great deal and may not gain anything at all. Make the most of this lovely thing you have going with Grayson. Grab him while you can before some other smart woman does. You care for him, don’t you?”
“Very much.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “But he saw me last night.”
“Tell him you were ill.” When Valery opened her mouth to protest, Connie went on, a motherly index finger in the air. “It isn’t a lie. You were ill.”
Valery shook her head. A lie of omission was already tearing her apart. She wasn’t going to add a white lie to her list of sins. “He’s not a fool, and I won’t pretend he is. I respect him too much.”
Mother’s lips thinned. “You’re impossible. You won’t even let me help you anymore.”
“I think you’ve helped me enough.”
“You were barely sixteen. What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.” That was the crux. She’d never known.
Weary of the discussion that had caused more problems than it had resolved, she left her mother standing there and walked back into the house.
Her relationship with Grayson could never move forward as long as the secret lay between them and as long as she drowned herself in alcohol to hide the truth.
Nor could she ever be truly happy, either by herself or with Grayson, until she resolved the issue of the baby girl she’d given away.